


Murderer

by Sorida



Series: Autobot Scout Z-B7: Bumblebee [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Bumblebee's First Kill, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spiritual, Suicide Bomber, Welcome to Special Ops, Why Bumblebee Doesn't Use a Melee Weapon, fun spark headcanons, sorry torque you're a dead mech walking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-03 10:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16324181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorida/pseuds/Sorida
Summary: Crimes of the spark were considered the most heinous a bot could perform. All rules and regulations flew out the window once the war began, the reasoning behind them lost to the Archives. Unfortunately, it takes a personal encounter for Bumblebee to understand.





	Murderer

**Author's Note:**

> Looks like I'm carrying on the tradition of yearly updates. I've been rewatching some RID2015 and this series will branch into that as well. I'll be working on the next part of Leviathan soon, I really would like to finish it. But anyways, this was partially inspired by the fact that Bumblebee usually doesn't have a knife or a sword and partially on the basis that sparks are raw energy.

There's a reason he refuses to use a knife.

The more hardened Warriors didn't understand the sentiment. A kill was a kill either way, why should the means make it so different? At the end of the day, your kill count either grew or you died. That's the way the universe worked. Some called him weak, some called him foolish, and some called him cruel. Cannons and blasters weren't a guarantee, a soldier needed a safety net. Unless they were a medic, now so rare and coveted, all soldiers carried short and long range weapons.

But Bumblebee refused.

It was one of his earlier missions, a quick jaunt over to Polyhex to follow up on a lead. He was a Scout after all, and Scouts travelled far, carried information, and toed the line of morality and loyalty. That was when he understood the latter part of the job, that a scout was a nice name for spy. But this was not the lesson learned on this day. For this mission, Bumblebee travelled with the changing seasons and delivered his message to a mech named Datum.

Polyhex was a secondary information hub. There wasn't even an official base either above or underground. It was a network of Autobots, more of an idea than a place. With Iacon in such close vicinity, the location of Polyhex became unimportant to the Decepticons. They had razed it at the start of the war, attempting to cut off trade routes to Iacon. What they created was a new beast. Cities can be burned. Ideas live forever.

Bumblebee found himself in an alleyway, hiding among the detritus. He had a vague description of the mech he was supposed to meet, but nothing more. To reveal more meant a flaw in the Scout. Scouts needed to remain off the grid and low priority to everyone except those they reported to. Otherwise, they would compromise the position entirely. Not many bots were capable of the job anymore. Whoever was left was of high value to both factions. As long as neither could put a designation to a frame, you were in the clear. Mostly.

Huddled within the worst of the wreckage, Bumblebee was nearly unrecognizable. He knew that bet would pay off in the end. As flashy as the color yellow was, it was easy to cover. Black marks were smeared over his paint, masking the bright hue beneath. He looked sickly and of little use, perfect for any beggar or Decepticon to overlook. Nobody bothered with those halfway to the Well.

In the end, he never met with Datum. The package expired and deleted itself as protocol dictated. Instead, as Bumblebee's counter ticked down, a very nervous mech entered the alleyway. Optics half shuttered, Bumblebee took stock of the newcomer. He was lanky, clumsy, and young. He was probably Bumblebee's age. And he looked _terrified._

Against all training, Bumblebee's spark ached for the newcomer. He was probably a Neutral, lost on his way to the final extraction point. He needed help and Bumblebee couldn't ignore that. Slowly, he stood to meet the stranger. The poor mech jumped, servos flying over his chassis, and Bumblebee gave him the most pitying look he could muster. Doorwings lowered, he offered his servo.

"Hey," he whispered. "It's ok, I'm not going to hurt you." Taking a few steps, he walked under one of the few remaining lights in the city. His frame looked awful, but hopefully, the stranger could see his smile. "I'm Bumblebee, who are you?"

The mech hesitated, never reaching out to take the servo, but doing nothing to run. After a breem of silence, he answered, "Torque."

Testing his luck, Bumblebee stopped a meter short of the mech-- Torque. "It's nice to meet you. Where are you trying..."

In the end, he was lucky for his frame's little quirk. His optics were perfect for scouting, possessing a superior zoom function beyond that of any mods he could get without changing his helm shape to accommodate the equipment. Something felt wrong, his optics trailing down to Torque's abdominal plating. To anyone else, it would've passed as a biolight, but Bumblebee saw the slow blinking. The pulse was synced to another light on his hydraulic and another within his servos.

K-class. _Suicide bomber._

He heard the rumors that the Decepticons were implementing the tactic to raise fatality rates among the Autobots. Bumblebee couldn't understand it. He didn't want to believe it. (Yet the Autobots taught him to fire a gun as soon as he was old enough to scan a vehicle. He told himself it was for survival, that they had his best interests in mind, but there was no erasing that he became a soldier before he became of age.)

But here was Torque, shaking and fearful, with a servo slowly nearing his helm--

_**"NO!"** _

Without waiting another second, Bumblebee tackled Torque and grabbed his servos. "What the frag are you doing? There are Neutrals around us! The blast radius would kill at least ten bots and injure who knows how many more?!" He could see the fear in Torque's optics. His probably looked the same during his first battle. The noises and the action, wanting nothing more but to freeze or run but knowing you had to fight, almost broke him. In some ways, Bumblebee was almost thankful he grew up in such a time of unrest, it's all he knew.

Torque's EM field was a mess of emotions, indecision with a hint of determination. The mech shook, but his voice was unwavering. "We do what we must." And then he struggled.

Innocents would be killed. Bumblebee would be killed. The last of his generation would be gone. Instinct took over.

Bumblebee let go, only to bring his left hydraulic down on Torque's throat. An energon blade slid out from his right wrist and without hesitation, he plunged it through a small gap in Torque's chassis armor and pierced his spark.

Time became irrelevant. He was near Kaon, fearful and small, watching as Seekers dropped bombs and sprayed acid over the unfortunate bystanders of war. Determined, he watched as the Decepticon insignia was branded to his shoulder pauldron. Hopeful, he was trained by Grindor and Blackout in the art of demolition. He was going to change Cybertron for the better, to stop the acts of violence and turmoil that gripped their sparks. Unafraid of death, he let Barricade set the bomb within him and give a prayer to Primus on his behalf. One last time, he held hands with his Amica as he left to carry out a mission larger than himself.

And then nothing.

* * *

 

Bumblebee came to in a medical facility in Iacon. His memory cache and tags were scrambled, giving him one of the worst processor aches he'd ever experienced (worse than the time he accidentally ingested high grade meant for large grounders and jets). Thankfully, a familiar face was there to guide him through the confusion.

"We need to stop meeting like this," he remarked, offering Ratchet a smile. The older medic huffed, simply grabbing a small flashlight and unceremoniously shining it in Bumblebee's optics.

"Follow the light," Ratchet instructed. Bumblebee did as told, spark sinking a bit. They were friends, weren't they?

"Missed you too." Focused on the task at hand, he never saw the twitch of Ratchet's mouth. Later, when he would work more closely with the medic and learn his tells, he wouldn't feel hurt at all. But for now, as far as Bumblebee was concerned, they were no more than acquaintances. Ratchet may as well have been Optimus Prime, just a figure who kept popping into Bee's life when the situation demanded it.

A rhythmic beeping finally caught his audials, finally distracting him from whatever feelings were floating through his emotional cortex. A spark monitor. If his limited knowledge of the readings was correct, his spark...really wasn't doing too hot. Why? He hadn't been injured. All he did was...

Oh.

Ratchet must've noticed something he didn't because seconds later, the medic was the only thing in his field of vision. "Bumblebee, relax. You need to calm down. Focus on me. That's it, calm your vents before you damage your fans. You're safe. Focus."

The words breached Bumblebee's processor and slowly, his cooling fans lowered to a soft hum. He hadn't even realized he panicked or that his spark ached. He wasn't injured. He was fine.

Then why did it feel like his whole life collapsed?

And then he understood.

"I killed him," he whispered, staring at his right servo. "I didn't think twice. I pierced the spark. I saw everything he was and every decision he made and...I understood." He looked to Ratchet, optics wide and fearful. "I felt _everything._ Oh Primus, did I merge?"

Ratchet sighed, resting a servo on Bumblebee's pauldron before the scout could build up a panic again. "The spark is as complicated as it is confusing. It wasn't a merge, but direct contact with a spark still establishes a connection. When a spark is at risk of being extinguished, it protects itself by reaching out to another, to appeal to kindness and mercy. Before the war, very few studies had been done about it, but murder concerning spark contact was the most severely punished. Things have changed, but it makes war harder than it already is." He paused, the anxious rumble of Bumblebee's engine filling the void.

"Bumblebee, nobody blames you for--"

"Take it out."

Ratchet could only stare at the energon blade jutting out of Bumblebee's wrist compartment. Unlike others, it was bright red, biolights pulsing in time with Bumblebee's spark. This wasn't the first soldier to request removal of their short-range weapon, but how things were escalating, was it right?

"I need you to understand the consequences. Had you not taken out that K-class, the entire district would've been destroyed. You saved the lives of at least twenty Neutrals as well as your own."

"I could've done that with a shot to his helm." Finally, Bumblebee made eye contact and in that moment, Ratchet knew he couldn't say no.

"In such short range, you would have been injured worse--"

"Ratchet." Something in his tone made the medic listen. "I never want to feel that way. I will hesitate and I will die or it'll drive me insane. I can't handle taking a life like that again."

They stayed in silence, the monitors and whispers from the outside filling the space between them. Weary and defeated, Ratchet conceded. "Very well."

Maybe that's when the rumors started. Maybe the Kalis transfer was a punishment for intentionally weakening himself. Even after everything, Bumblebee didn't regret the choice he made. Surviving became a little easier. The voices of those he killed became a little quieter.

But his own, reminding him of what the war made him do, only grew louder.


End file.
